


The Note

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual instructions, Submission, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: Sansa receives specific instructions for her wedding night.





	

Sansa sat at her desk on the night of her wedding. She smoothed out the note she’d received that morning, reading it for at least the hundredth time.

 

_Sansa,_

_I know that you aren’t exactly looking forward to what we must do tonight. Do as I say and it will be easier for both of us. Wear your nightgown with nothing underneath it. When I knock on your door, please bend over your desk. I promise I won’t hurt you._

_-Jon_

The note had been delivered by Jon’s squire, Satin. Sansa wondered if Jon might have taken advice from Satin for this evening. She tried to push the thought out of her mind. She tried to push all thoughts out of her mind.

And so, Sansa sat at her desk, naked underneath her shift. She felt at least a hundred emotions. She was certainly nervous. She’d be out of her mind if she wasn’t anxious about tonight. Yet somewhere, mixed in with the nervousness, there was also a strange anticipation. Waiting for him made her very aware of every sensation: her thighs brushing together, her hair sliding against her back. She could not deny she had been aroused by being told exactly what to do.

Two loud knocks came at her door. Sansa’s heart began to pound. She did as she’d been told, and bent over the desk.

She heard the door swing open and shut. With her head resting on her hands she could not see, but she heard the latch clang.

She could hear soft footsteps and then felt Jon behind her. He placed his hand on her lower back. It was the softest touch she’d ever felt. Then, without hesitation or warning, he pulled her shift up, exposing her bottom.

And just like that, Sansa was bent over her desk, naked from the waist down. Blood rushed to her face and to her sex. She was suddenly humiliated, both by her exposure, and her desire. She turned her face down so that Jon could not see her shame.

He continued, coaxing her to spread her legs apart. She then felt his fingers between her legs. She did her best to stay still as possible. Jon began to stroke her. She was shocked at how sure his fingers were, stroking all of the places she wanted to be touched. It did not take long before her sex and his fingers were slick. Sansa felt warmth growing in her stomach. He stopped, and she heard fabric rustling behind her. She knew what was next.

His head pressed at her entrance. He was true to his word: he never hurt her. He eased into her impossibly slowly. He let her adjust to each new stretch. It was uncomfortable, but never painful. Finally, he gave a final push, and filled her completely. Holding her hips, he began to thrust. She in turn clutched the desk. He found his rhythm and began to thrust harder, his skin slapping against hers.

He pushed hard into her, holding her hips. He made a strained sound, and came. Sansa could feel the tremors of his body. He held her in place for a moment, catching his breath. Then, as gently as he entered her, he withdrew. He pulled her nightgown back down. His hand rested again for just for a moment on her back.

“Goodnight, Sansa,” he said softly before he turned and left.

Sansa was frozen in place. After a moment she sat back down. She could feel his seed wetting her thighs. She was stunned. Was that it? Was that her wedding night? Still shocked, she cleaned herself up and got into bed, alone.

The next morning Jon greeted her warmly and pretended as though nothing had happened. They went about the day as they always had—taking meetings, discussing the business of Winterfell. He did all of the things a husband might do. He held his arm out to her as they climbed the steps, brushed snowflakes off of her cloak, even kissed her hand, but there was always a distance to his affections.

It quickly became their custom. Every few nights, Jon would send Satin to Sansa to see if she would like his company that evening. She would respond yes and wait that evening in her nightgown. Two knocks and she would bend over her desk. Every night, Jon would lift her night gown, take her from behind, replace her nightgown and leave.

Sansa was conflicted. She knew she must do her duty. And she did not mind it entirely. Jon was always gentle. Some nights she even felt tendrils of pleasure that were just out of reach. She wondered what Jon felt. She wondered if that was perhaps the only way Jon was able to come. She’d been taught that coupling did not require a woman’s pleasure, only a man’s satisfaction. If this was what Jon wanted, she must oblige.

Still, was this how it would always be? A lifetime of bending over her desk, or at least until they had enough heirs? Would she go her whole life without kisses, without passion? And how could she admit that she wanted such things from the man who’d been her brother?

One night Sansa laid against the desk while Jon took her. She suddenly realized: this was not all that Jon desired, but it was all that he desired from her. It was all that he could bring himself to do to his sister. It was the bare minimum to put heirs in her. He might have wanted more from another woman, but not from her. This was her sentence. She could have her home, her title, her husband, but not the passion another woman might know from him. The thought made her so sad she couldn’t help but tear up. She turned her face away so Jon would not see.

Their days and their nights continued as such. After a few weeks, Sansa was sewing by the fire when she made a strange realization. Her breasts were straining against her gown. She couldn’t remember the last time she had bled. Could she be pregnant so soon? It should have caused joy, but instead she felt a strange panic in her stomach. If she were pregnant, Jon would surely stop visiting her room. The one connection they had as man and wife—however limited—would disappear completely. She gasped when there was a knock and Satin entered to request her company that evening. She quickly agreed and then began to panic even more. She resolved not to tell him until she knew for certain.

She was a ball of nerves waiting for him that evening. She was so consumed with her thoughts she didn’t hear the two knocks, or notice Jon in the room. He was surprised to see her sitting.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, frowning.  
“Oh, yes, of course,” she replied. She quickly stood and bent over. She felt the pull of fabric and then the cool night air on her naked skin. She had grown accustomed to it. It had become a ritual, a pattern. Soon, Jon was thrusting inside of her. She held on to the table to brace herself. She stared at the fire, wondering how many nights she would spend like this, bent over a table, while her husband put heirs in her.

Suddenly, something deep within her shifted. She was more than the vessel for their babes. She pushed herself away from the table and pulled her nightgown off.

“What are you doing?” Jon asked, still buried inside of her.

“I want you to touch me,” she stated. She arched back until she was nearly standing. The momentum and the shock were enough for Jon to step back and luckily tumble into her chair.

She sat down in his lap, her back brushing against his chest. Jon was shocked, but somehow, his hands found their way to her breasts. He reached up and cupped her breasts and pulled her against him. Her breasts were already sensitive, and his strokes thrilled her. She began to rock against him while he kissed her shoulders. “Sansa,” he groaned into her neck.

Sansa managed to pull them apart and turn around to face him. Her breasts were brushing against his face. He looked up at her. “Can I…” he could barely say it.

“Yes,” she said. He took the pink tip into his mouth and sucked. She moaned and tilted her head back. When Jon was able to pull away from her breasts, he grabbed her hair and pulled her mouth to his. And so, weeks after wedding, with their child already growing inside of her, they kissed deeply for the first time. Sansa clawed at Jon’s hair, while his tongue touched the roof of her mouth, driving her mad with pleasure. Jon stood and carried Sansa to bed.

He threw her down on top of the furs. He began to kiss her neck, her lips, her ears—anything he could get a hold of as she tossed and turned in pleasure. He kissed the space between her breasts and her belly button, and then dipped below that. He spread her lips, but this time with his own. He stroked her with his tongue until she was gasping for air. The tendrils of pleasure that had escaped her now wrapped around her legs and pulled her to the bed. He found her nub and licked until she finally tightened, and released, collapsing on the bed.

He did not give her any rest as he climbed back up her body to kiss her. He eased into her and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

Sansa buried her face into his neck. Taking her from behind, he’d been a stranger, just the cock in her cunt and the hands on her hips. From this angle, she could smell him, she could taste him, she could feel him. He was chest and arms and beard and sweet, sweet mouth. He gave her so much love and sweetness…he gave her all of himself.

It did not take long until his face twisted and he moaned into her neck before collapsing on top of her. He rolled to the side and pulled her onto his chest. They laid in silence for some time, Sansa’s fingers contentedly combing his chest hair.

“That’s what it’s supposed to be like, isn’t it?” she said softly.

“Yes,” he murmured.

She quietly stroked his hair, not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry Sansa. I didn’t think you wanted that. I thought you would want it over as quickly as possible. I…I thought that it would be easier for you that way,” he said with remorse in his voice.

“I thought it was all you wanted. I thought you wouldn’t want it any other way, at least not with me,” she confessed, releasing a terrible weight.

“No, never. I had to keep myself from grabbing you and doing terrible things to you,” he made his own confession.

“What sort of things?” she asked playfully, lifting her head to give him a look.

“I’ll show you. We’ve got nothing but time,” he said kissing her. Time. That reminded Sansa of something.

“Jon, I think I might be pregnant,” Sansa said. The surprise lit up his face.

“Already? Are you certain?” he asked.

“No, but I haven’t bled and my breasts are sore,” she explained.

“Sansa that’s wonderful,” he said squeezing her tightly.

“If I am with child…will you stop coming to my room?” Jon understood what she was truly asking. Will it go back to the way it was?

“No. In fact I’ll be sleeping here now,” he said, as he rolled Sansa to her side, so he could hold her. He kissed her shoulder. “At least until you kick me out for snoring.”

“We’ll see,” she said, settling into his embrace.


End file.
